


In Good Hands

by A_Diamond



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Steve Rogers, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Endearments, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Prostate Massage, Talk of Fisting, Voyeurism, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:57:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond
Summary: Steve had always had such a thing for Bucky’s hands. So when it was his turn, and he knelt in front of a chair to clean what blood he could off of Bucky’s scraped and bruised knuckles only to realize how much he wanted to kiss them: he did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the thanks to [gravyboot/allrealities](https://gravyboot.tumblr.com/) for the quick beta!

Steve had always had such a thing for Bucky’s hands. The strong fingers, broad palms, they just got to him in a way that felt equal parts unnatural and unerringly right. It wasn’t something his priest or the fellas down on 8th street woulda liked much, probably, but Steve didn’t spend a whole lot of time worrying about that.

That was just the way of things. Before he knew he liked guys, he liked Bucky; before he knew he liked Bucky, he liked Bucky’s hands. He figured out what it meant, then figured out he wanted to do something about it.

Bucky’d just finished yet another fight Steve had started—not that he couldn’t’ve done it himself, but Bucky had these dumb, chivalrous ideas about his size and his asthma and how they meant he needed protecting. Bucky liked to tell Steve that he just didn’t like looking at how much uglier a black eye and busted lip made his already unbearable mug, but that never stopped him from wiping the blood off Steve’s forehead and cheeks after.

He could just about fit Steve’s whole face in one hand, his calluses rough but his touch so gentle that Steve knew all his bitching to be a lie. So when it was his turn, and he knelt in front of a chair to clean what blood he could off of Bucky’s scraped and bruised knuckles only to realize how much he wanted to kiss them: he did. And when Bucky asked, “Are you sure?” and, “This ain’t just some damsel in distress gratitude, is it?” Steve said, “Fuck you,” and, “Not a damsel or in distress,” and sucked the first two fingers of Bucky’s left hand into his mouth just in case there were any lingering uncertainties.

“Oh,” said Bucky, his eyes soft and hot as he watched his fingers slip between Steve’s lips, “is that how it is?”

Bucky’s other hand came back to cradle Steve’s cheek as he let his eyes fall closed and explored. He ran his tongue over the creases under Bucky’s knuckles, then slid it between them and circled up each separately, catching lightly against his hard, blunt fingernails. It was everything he hadn’t even known he’d been dreaming about. When Steve started to lave over the pads, tasting his fingerprints—salty, just a hint of metal and dirt left from their scrap—Bucky groaned like he was dying and Steve could feel the tremor of it move all the way down Bucky’s arm and into him.

“You’re killin’ me, Stevie,” he whispered. Not that Steve was in any better shape, as hard as he’d ever been just from Bucky’s fingers on his tongue. He could’ve spent hours on them, never mind what his dick thought it needed—and for all he knew, maybe he did.

Bucky stroked his thumb tenderly over Steve’s cheekbone until Steve opened his eyes. It took a second for his gaze to focus, hazy with the satisfaction of Bucky’s touch, but God, the sight when it did. Bucky stared down at him, jaw slack and eyes dark with arousal. His pants stretched tight across his lap, barely holding in the bulge there, and Steve swallowed reflexively at the desire that roused in him.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed at the suction around his fingers, then he was pulling them back and hauling Steve up before he could protest at the loss. His grip was devastatingly strong as he dragged Steve into his lap like it was nothing, and small and pliant as Steve was feeling, it might’ve been at that. The way Bucky kissed him, though, the way he could feel Bucky’s cock hard and hot against his in that position—that wasn’t anything like nothing.

“Fuck!” Bucky said again as Steve rocked them together, and his hands were gloriously all over: gripping at Steve’s back to pull him closer in, catching in his hair to drag him forward for a kiss, sliding down, down to squeeze his ass in time with their grinding. He started, “Steve,” and didn’t say anything more, but that was fine because his fingers were still slick from Steve’s spit when he dipped them down the back of Steve’s pants in question.

Steve nodded against his neck. He was used to being breathless, but not like that. Not good, sweet, giddy breathlessness; not light-headed dizziness that made him want to fly instead of crumple. “Yeah,” he said, then when Bucky’s fingers slipped lower still, “Yeah, Buck. Please.”

The chair fell backwards when Bucky stood, but Steve was safe in his grasp, supported by his legs around Bucky’s waist and Bucky’s arm under his thighs. The other hand stayed inside his trousers, teasing up and down the cleft of his ass until he was crazy with it, urging Bucky to “come on, Christ, what’s the hold up? I know you know how to use that dick of yours, I’ve heard you practice.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky laughed, and Steve shot back, “I thought that was the idea.”

Bucky’s tantalizing fingers curled in so he was running his nails over Steve’s sensitive skin instead, and it turned out that was pretty great, too. “God-damned punk,” he said fondly as Steve shivered. “First time I fuck you, it sure as hell ain’t gonna be on the kitchen floor.”

“First time,” Steve repeated, half-delirious at the thought. Then, “How about on the stairs?”

But Bucky carried him up those, too, easy as anything, and didn’t let go until he could drop him on the bed—Bucky’s bed, not Steve’s. He liked that. Then clothes started coming off, and Steve wanted to help, honestly he did, but Bucky’s fingers were so quick and clever as they unbuttoned first Steve’s shirt and then his own that Steve couldn’t bear to look away.

Steve’s ass hung nearly off the edge of the bed when Bucky was done undressing them both, his legs spread wide so Bucky could step between them. Bending down to cover Steve’s body with his, Bucky kissed him again, sweet and slow as molasses. Then he braced his weight to one side and rubbed a finger over Steve’s spit-slick lower lip, and Steve sucked it in with a groan.

Steve kept his eyes open this time, despite the desire making his eyelids heavy. He watched Bucky’s face as he licked around and around the finger, pausing only to switch directions or stroke up the whole length with his tongue, and it was worth the effort. Bucky swore, and stared, and swore again.

He fed Steve his fingers one by one until three of them dripped with saliva and Steve couldn’t hardly remember his own name, too busy concentrating on lavishing equal attention upon each of the long, sturdy digits. His dick throbbed steadily with his racing pulse, jumping excitedly each time it brushed Bucky’s thick thigh, but it was Bucky’s fingers dragging over his tongue as he pulled his hand free that really sent Steve’s desperation over the edge.

He didn’t have a chance to get too worked up about it before Bucky stepped back and his fingers teased between Steve’s parted legs. The spit had cooled a bit in the air, but it was slick when Bucky rubbed over his hole. It still burned when Bucky pushed the very tip of a finger inside Steve, just a hint of pain along with the unfamiliar, uncomfortable stretch, but then Steve remembered that it was Bucky’s hand filling him, propped himself up and looked down his body and saw that the first knuckle of Bucky’s finger had vanished inside him, and everything relaxed in such a sudden wave of arousal that his back flopped down to the mattress again.

Bucky kept going, his other hand rubbing and squeezing at Steve’s hipbone as he pushed his finger in to the next knuckle, and then the third, and the burn gave way after he’d worked it in and out a few times.

“You’re doin’ so good, Stevie,” he said. “Fuck, look at you. You like that?”

It took a lot of work, even a few tries, for Steve to get the words out, but he was always willing to make the effort to be a bit of a shit. “Dick’s right there, what do you think?”

Bucky pulled his finger out, then pushed back against Steve’s entrance with two fingertips. Even pressed close together, they were a damn sight larger than just one had been. He just left them there, massaging but not pressing further in, because he could be a little shit, too.

“I think you should tell me what you like about it, sweetheart.”

It was too much. Steve tried to shove down, to force Bucky back inside of him, but Bucky had a hand on his hip and the strength to keep him in place. He gave up after the second attempt and gasped out, “Your hand,” like it was a curse.

Bucky didn’t relent.

“Your god-damned hands, Buck. Don’t know how you don’t know, fuck, can never stop looking at them.”

That bit of honesty earned him the first inch of Bucky’s fingers before they stopped again, so he choked off a whine and kept going.

“They’re perfect, strong and beautiful and—you musta noticed how much I draw ’em. I can’t not, not when I see your damned fingers every time I close my eyes. They get banged up fightin’ for me and all I wanna do is lick the blood off, make it feel good instead of hurting.”

“God, Stevie.”

Bucky stopped holding off and thrust the last knuckles of his twined-together fingers in all at once. Steve’s back arched up off the bed, hips still pressed down by the solid, comforting weight of Bucky’s free hand, and a ragged cry tore out of his throat.

Stilling, voice heavy with concern, Bucky asked, “Fuck, did I hurt you? Are you—”

“Feels good,” Steve said, because it did, “it feels so good, but it’s even better that it’s your hand, your fingers. They’re in me, Buck. Christ, your fingers are inside me.”

They were, and then they started moving and Steve lost all capacity for speech when the tips pushed against something that made all the lights flare momentarily brighter. That was fine, though, because Bucky took over for him.

“These fingers, sweetheart? That what you like? You’re taking ’em so good, look at that, like you were made for it.”

Bucky circled and rubbed over that spark of a spot inside Steve as he spoke, sending shock after shock through him until his limbs tingled into numbness and he could barely hear Bucky’s dirty talk over the ringing in his ears. He heard enough, though, because Bucky had a big mouth and knew how to use it.

“That’s it. Fuck, yeah, Stevie, just like that. You can have my fingers, as many as you want. I’ll give you my whole god-damned hand, Christ, get my hand so deep inside you—”

Steve shot off like a rocket and lost whatever else Bucky said to roar of blood and his own shout of climax. The world dropped away as the wave of it crested over and kept him submerged, a longer, harder orgasm than he’d ever known by his own hand. All that remained was the jerk of his untouched dick as it pulsed relentlessly and the pump of Bucky’s fingers in his ass, unceasing throughout.

Finally, after what felt like Steve’s whole life lived over again, Bucky slid free and Steve blinked himself back to awareness. The first thing he saw was Bucky’s face hovering right over his, twice as smug as ever. If he’d had the energy he would’ve socked him on principle, but he couldn’t get his hand to move quite right yet, so he settled for throwing his arm over Bucky’s neck to drag him down for a kiss. Bucky’s dick, still unsatisfied, bumped up against Steve’s knee and he relented.

“You can still fuck me.” His voice rasped a little, not as hoarse as it got after an asthma attack.

Bucky chuckled and dipped down to brush a kiss over his sweaty forehead. “When you’re already worked over, with nothing but spit to ease the way? I’d never, sweetheart. But I thought maybe you’d wanna watch...”

He settled on the bed next to Steve and started stroking himself slowly, eyebrows raised. Gaze fixed on Bucky’s hand, Steve could only lick his lips and nod. He really had heard Bucky doing it, hard not to with their beds in the same room and him a light sleeper, but that was nothing on being able to see. Being able to stare openly as Bucky’s fist worked over his dick, God, the contrast of his blood-flushed cock peeking out between his paler fingers.

Then he stopped, looked thoughtfully at Steve, and let go of himself. Wordlessly, he lifted his hand to Steve’s face, palm in front of his mouth, and Steve got the idea real quick. Bucky’s skin tasted even more like sweat now, and a heady musk that had to’ve been pure Bucky, the scent and flavor straight from his dick to Steve’s tongue. Or not straight, not yet, but there’d be time for that later. Now, he got to watch.

Once Steve had coated his hand real good and thorough, when there was no taste left but his own spit, Bucky took it back and wrapped around his dick with a groan. “That’s nice. Oh, yeah, that’s real nice.”

The sounds were obscene, Bucky’s slick hand on his slick cock, his filthy mouth full of promises of what he was gonna do to Steve next time, but the vision of his god-damned hand, his god-damned fingers tugging up and down his dick—it was the most beautiful god-damned thing Steve had ever seen. His eyes watered with the fight against blinking, lest he miss a second of it. He didn’t have too long to wait, though; Bucky’s fist was speeding up, his hips jerking into it before a minute was up, then he was gone.

He shot all over Steve’s chest when he came, stripes of creamy white crossing over the lines Steve had left there himself, but the last few dribbles dripped onto Bucky’s fingers where he held himself. Without hesitation, Steve leaned over and licked them off before Bucky could even let go, so he ended up getting a taste of Bucky’s dick after all. Only a flick of his tongue, then Bucky shoved him back with a hand on his mostly clean shoulder.

“Christ, not yet. I can’t take it.” Bucky flopped down beside him. They lay quietly for a minute, both staring up at the ceiling and Steve, at least, smiling like a lovesick dope, then Bucky wiped his spit-covered hand on Steve’s thigh and Steve let out a weak pretense of a protest.

“Nice,” he grumbled, “real classy.”

Bucky rolled on his side, flashing Steve a shit-eating grin, then unceremoniously wrapped an arm around his chest and dragged him up and across the bed, so that they were both laying the right way. Shoving Steve’s head to the pillow when Steve tried to sit up, he said, “You’re making me tired. Take a nap.”

He draped his arm over Steve, then, and it coulda been just to hold him there. But he reached out further with it, finding Steve’s hand and lacing their fingers together before falling into his own sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _A full year later..._ Happy birthday again, Bucky!

Bucky’s hands weren’t any bigger than Steve’s, when Steve got big, but that didn’t stop him from losing the train of his thought entirely the first time he saw them stripping and cleaning a rifle. They were only a couple days out from the facility, a couple days of darkness that still hadn’t left the underside of Bucky’s eyes, when he rounded a tent and found Bucky perched on a crate with his rifle across his lap, less a few parts lined up next to his leg.

One of his hands was wrapped around the barrel, fingers curled possessively with just a hint of space between them that highlighted his skin against the slivers of dark metal. The other was doing something near the stock, Steve wasn’t really sure what. Not for lack of looking; his eyes dropped to Bucky’s sly-working fingers like they were drawn with magnets and couldn’t pull away, not even when the private showing him around stopped awkwardly and coughed, “Uh, Captain Rogers, sir?”

They were in a damn war zone, but there was no power on Earth that could drag Steve from that spot. He worked his jaw, swallowing until his throat wasn’t too dry to say, “Go on about your other duties. I can find my tent.”

“Yes, sir?” the boy said. He hadn’t lost any of the uncertainty threading through his voice, but after a few moments of clearly not having the slightest part of Steve’s attention he repeated, “Yes, sir,” and his bootsteps faded away.

Bucky’s fingers slipped quick and clever to pick up the broken down pieces and twist then back into place. His fingers yanked final tug on the bolt to clear already empty chamber, and the sound of it echoed through Steve like he’d fired a round. But his hands didn’t move after that, just there, taunting Steve with all the things he’d thought he’d lost, things he still wasn’t sure he could have again. He and Bucky hadn’t had but a single moment alone since reuniting. For all he knew, Bucky didn’t even want him anymore, with his new body and the war and all.

Then Bucky asked, “You just gonna keep starin’ or you gonna take me to your tent?”

Turned out there was exactly one force on Earth powerful enough to break Steve out of his fascination with Bucky’s hands, and that force was Bucky Barnes himself. Always had been.

Didn’t mean his eyes were quick on their way up, but they eventually made it to Bucky’s grin, as sideways as ever when he thought he was calling Steve’s bluff—though it never was a bluff, not really. And although the dark circles under his eyes looked just as haunted as ever, the sparkle in them was back to goad Steve on, dare him into whatever new, stupid thing he thought was a good idea.

He stepped in close, not so far that they’d be caught if someone came around the corner; not so far as he wanted. Bucky’s head tilted back to follow him and Steve asked, “Not just some damsel in distress gratitude, right?”

“Fuck you.” Bucky laid his rifle on the crate next to him, then jumped down and after that there wasn’t any distance left between them anymore. “No damsel, no distress. Ain’t nothing new on offer here, punk, you ain’t that different.”

Just like that, Steve knew nothing had changed between them in any way that mattered. He might’ve been the one ending a fight for Bucky instead of the other way ’round, and he might’ve had an inch or two on Bucky instead of looking up from around chin level, but Bucky was still a smug jerk and Steve, well, Steve was always gonna be his punk.

Wasn’t like they’d never done things other ways; they fooled around often enough to make the hustlers and working girls down by the docks seem chaste, at least when Steve’s health didn’t get in the way. Between the two of them, never short on bad ideas nor the lack of sense to follow through, they tried all kinds of stuff on each other.

But Steve god-damn loved when Bucky fucked him. Got heated as all hell with Bucky’s fingers pushing him open, moving inside him, making him feel so full and so good. It was never just about getting him ready for Bucky’s cock—though watching, feeling Buck lose himself in Steve was just about the most beautiful thing the world had ever had in it.

None of that needed to change just ’cause Steve was big; he was still who he’d always been, and he sure as shit didn’t want it to.

So he grinned right back at Bucky, said, “Guess you better come the fuck on, then,” and led the way to the tent that had been marked out as his on the map. They got waylaid more than once on the way, soldiers eager for a chat, but he could feel Bucky’s heat just shy of his back and he didn’t trust his uniform trousers not to give away the state of things. He rushed through the barest acknowledgements of all of them, happier to seem rude than miss his shot.

Finally they made it, and thank Christ it was on the outskirts with no one around because as soon as the flap fluttered down to block the door he was pulling Bucky in, or Bucky was pulling him in, or the force of their need brought them crashing together all on its own. Despite the urgency of it, Bucky’s lips were sweet as anything when they claimed their place over Steve’s, soft instead of hard with desperation.

Steve felt it, too, wanted the tenderness he’d been missing for so long with Bucky gone and war raging all around. But they didn’t cling to each other long; or they did, but they started doing more than just cling, too. Bucky’s hand, the one that wasn’t holding Steve in by the front of his shirt, found the back of his neck and wrapped around it, grounding him even as he lost the reassuring contact of Bucky’s lips to a breathy laugh.

“Whose idea was it to make you so fuckin’ huge, huh? Now I’m not sore you finally look like as much of a meathead as you’ve always been, but damn, it’s a hell of a thing not being able to fit your whole scrawny neck in one hand anymore.”

Steve kissed him once just to shut him up, then again because they were both there and that meant he could. Then he asked, “Who you calling a meathead, meathead?” and only got a sly grin and a hand down his pants in response.

“They sure did make you big everywhere. But that still fits pretty nice, wouldn’t you say?” Bucky’s fingers squeezed and stroked to prove his point. It was a tight fit, being as he hadn’t even had the decency to unbutton him, but it still wrung a noise out of Steve that didn’t sound even a little bit different on its way out than the ones he used to make when his lungs were only half functional.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and, “Buck, shit, wait a minute.”

Since Bucky was a shit and a half if he was anything, he didn’t stop so much as escalate. Molding his grip firmer around Steve, he teased his trigger finger out over the tip of Steve’s cock, rubbed and tapped at his slit to make him jerk into it helplessly. When Bucky laughed, quiet though it was, it shook all through his body and shivered a whimper from Steve when it reached him.

“Don’t tell me Captain America, marvel of modern science and strength, don’t got the stamina God gave an asthmatic cripple. I barely even touched you, Stevie.”

“Easy for you to say when you don’t got a hand on your dick,” groused Steve. “Five months, asshole.”

Bucky’s other hand dropped down to get his trousers open, making room to work around Steve’s cock and tug his shirt up. Splaying his fingers on the sensitive skin where stomach met groin in a curl of wiry hair, Bucky asked, “Missed these?”

“Missed you.” Steve couldn’t help pushing into Bucky’s touch, but he could ignore it well enough to also snort. “Damned if I know why, though. You just gonna feel me up like a dame in the back row of the movies or what?”

Bucky grinned and took his hands off Steve, which Steve mourned only so long as it took them to meet at his collar, and then barely any time at all from that until his whole shirt was undone and being shoved off his shoulders.

“Hell, there’s so much of you. I swear you’re three times as broad as you used to be.”

He let Bucky undress him, because they both liked that; even if undress didn’t quite mean the same thing that it had back in their cramped but private apartment. His undershirt stayed on, and his pants and boxers only made it halfway down his thighs, but that was plenty of room once Bucky had him down on the thin mattress with a hand back around him and two fingers rubbing dryly at his hole. 

“You want me to fuck you?”

He kept tracing the tight circle of Steve’s asshole, his rough fingertips tugging a little at the skin. It was just enough to drive Steve out of his god-damned mind, a tease of all the wicked and delicious things Bucky could do if only he’d fucking do them. Promises, threats, and so, so many memories of all the hours—sleepless nights and long mornings and sweet, sweaty afternoons—when his whole world been nothing but those fingers moving inside him.

“Or do you want to fuck me, now you’re magically the big one? I bet this”—twitching one finger at a time, Bucky made ripples with his hand over Steve’s dick a couple times before swiping his thumb through the bead of clear fluid at the top—“would feel real fucking good for me.”

“Anything. Anything you want, I’m yours, just let me feel you. Fuck, I need to feel you.”

Any other time, he woulda been too stubborn to beg. Sure, he and Buck were sweet on each other, and he wasn’t ashamed of the things he liked in bed. Or on the stairs or against the wall or on the table—Christ, they’d probably break the table between them now if they tried. But they usually talked a lot of shit while doing it, egging each other on. Mostly Steve talked shit and Bucky talked filth and it worked out pretty damn well for the both of them.

But lying there, Bucky a solid weight curved around his side again at last, Bucky’s hands back on him at last, he was too broken open for anything but raw emotion.

“I’ve got you.” Bucky kissed the promise into the patches of skin he could reach. “I’m here, we’re here.”

His hold on Steve’s cock firmed up, turned into long, slow strokes that swallowed the head in his tender fist then let it pop back out again as he ran his hand all the way down to the root. “Feel that?” he asked, but it wasn’t a tease so Steve nodded and said, “yeah,” and, “oh,” melted into the caress.

The fingers at his ass dropped away, then came back a moment later slick enough with spit for the tip of one to push past the tight ring of his hole. It wasn’t without some resistance, but even that was more pressure than pain and it eased in less time than it took him to let out an anticipatory, shuddering breath.

“Look at that,” Bucky marveled, low and heated, “takin’ it so sweet and easy, Christ, they really did you up right. They ask you what you wanted out of a super body, hm? You tell those genius scientists you needed muscles that could keep up with your desire to punch Nazis and an ass that could keep up with your desire to get fucked?”

“Gotta keep up with—fuck.” A second finger caught him by surprise, pressing in with barely more effort and zeroing in on that spot inside that felt a little like a punch in the gut and a little like exploding in bliss.

Bucky’s fist kept working lazily on his cock, and the fingers in his ass moved at the same pace; not so slow it was torturous, but Buck was clearly taking his damn sweet time stroking back and forth, up and down. It gave Steve time to adjust, sink deeper into the feeling, get himself talking again:

“Gotta keep up with your desire to fuck me, you mean.” It came out fond and smooth, almost sleepy, and that was all right.

Bucky agreed, “I do wish I could fuck you proper. We get sent somewhere with real walls and no chance of some starstruck kid stumbling in here looking for the darlin’ of the USO, oh sweetheart, I’m gonna take my time with you. But we don’t got that here, so I’m just gonna do the best I can by you with what we can. So tell me, you like that? You like having my hands all over you, in you, making you feel good?”

Christ but it did feel good. It built and built, an ember glowing brighter with each steady move of Bucky’s hands, the flare of it increasing more and more, faster and faster even though Bucky wasn’t going any quicker at all, until he was flying more than floating and everything was endless light and Bucky’s touch.

Somewhere in the haze Bucky had him trapped inside—so willingly, always, he would stay forever if that was what Bucky wanted—the ground started to quake like whole world was ending. It didn’t matter. It could burn. He had Bucky.

He didn’t even know he was coming until it was over, far too caught up in it to make sense of things. But slowly he was himself again, in a body that trembled like he it had when he was small and in such a bad way he couldn’t breathe but to cough, though he felt as far from sickly as he ever had. Sweat dried clammy on his skin; the other mess he’d made, and a hell of a mess it was all over him, would be more work than that to clean.

“Christ,” Bucky said, “Jesus.” His hands had left Steve at some point, not long going by the fact his dick only just got out of his trousers while Steve was watching. When he tried to do something more with it from there, Steve put in a real half-hearted effort to swat his hands away.

“C’mere.”

With a laugh no one else woulda been able to read as desperate, Bucky asked, “What, you can’t move?”

“Can. Don’t wanna.” Steve licked his lips. “Come here.”

“Okay.” Bucky might’ve been all right at keeping his voice cool, but the way he scrambled up the bed on his knees to settle over Steve’s face made a liar of him. “Yeah, okay.”

His cock slipped into Steve’s mouth and his hands slipped into Steve’s hair and the war outside waited on them for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'll get part 3 done (the original inspiration, if you're keeping track at home) before next March 10th. Maybe not.

**Author's Note:**

> [I exist on tumblr!](http://alxdiamond.tumblr.com/) Come say hi if you'd like.


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